Sick Minds
by Jupiter Sun
Summary: Because Allen and Kanda are soul mates who just can't seem to get it right. Just some drabbles/ficlets.
1. Edge

**A/N:** Hi, I'm just gonna post my Arekan/Yullen/whateveryoucallit drabbles and stuff here, if ya don't mind, so...

**Disclaimer: **Don't own.

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_**Edge**_

Kanda runs a hand through his hair and takes a drag on his cigarette, the taste of ash on his tongue. He exhales in a puff of smoke. It's exactly three in the morning and Allen hates it when he smokes inside the apartment, but Kanda hates the feel of night air on his bare skin, cold, clean and fresh.

A broken dish sits just under the sink, evidence of their last fight. Allen had left in a flurry of white and grey and heat, cheeks bright red with fury and hands curled in tight fists. He had managed to slam the door hard enough to make it shake in its frame, the resounding bang! ringing in their ears. Kanda leans against the front door and remembers how pretty Allen had looked with his eyes all lit up like that. Like white-hot fire and cold steel. Kanda brings a hand up to his face and gingerly touches his swollen cheek. The stupid bean sprout never misses an opportunity to prove his strength to others.

A thin layer of smoke has settled around him and when he passes a hand through the fog, it catches on his arm before curling away. He slides down the door and stubs out his cigarette on the floor (another thing Allen couldn't stand about him). He hears muffled shouting and curses coming from somewhere below.

The neighbours have gotten used to their almost daily fights, brushing them off as just another lover's quarrel. Dumb neighbours. Kanda doesn't even know what to think anymore. He sees their relationship as him and Allen standing at the edge of a cliff, rough and a little bit dangerous, just how they like it. Maybe one day, someone will push a little too hard and they will both fall. Allen isn't afraid of heights, but Kanda is (although he'll never admit it).

He briefly wonders if it's too late, that he has already started to fall and fall and fall and he doesn't know how to stop. He remembers the hardness of Allen's gaze, the firm line of his mouth, and suddenly wishes he could fly.

Then he berates himself for being silly because Allen will come back, he has to. He always comes back.

And if only he had been born a bird, this never would have happened.


	2. Blank

**_Blank_**

He sees the world in blurred white lines and streaks of grey. Everyday at noon, a dark smudge stains the blank canvas that is his sight, blacker than ink. It takes his hand and brings it up to a straight nose, thin lips, arched brows, long, bristly lashes that sweep against high cheekbones. He sees all this and it's _beautiful_.

"Kanda," Allen sighs and closes his eyes. There's light dancing beneath his eyelids.

Kanda takes two fingers to pry open his mouth before dropping a few pills in his hand.

"Take your medication," he says as he hands Allen a glass of water.

"Kanda, are you married?" He can feel the hard outline of metal on Kanda's ring finger.

"That's none of your business."

He hears a rustle as the man moves to leave and his hand shoots out to grab onto the material of Kanda's scrubs.

"Is she pretty?"

"It's none of your business," Kanda snaps. Allen tightens his grip.

"Is. She. Pretty?"

He hears the other sigh and knows that Kanda is getting tired. Tired of this, of Allen and his mood swings.

"Yes, yes. She's pretty. Now let go, I have work to do."

The door closes with a light click that nearly drowns out Allen's "Prettier than me?"

He drops back down in bed and feels the stump of his left arm, then brings his hand to his forehead, fingertips lightly brushing over raised flesh, a scar left over from having his head cut open and put back together. "Craniotomy, radiation, chemotherapy, melanoma," they said. "It looks like a star," Mana said.

_It must be because I'm sick_, Allen thinks. Nobody likes broken toys.

He listens to the sound of footsteps echoing up and down the empty halls and the steady whirring of the AC before drifting off to sleep.

A week later finds Allen being spoon fed lunch by Kanda. The nurse had watched him fumble with the spoon before rolling his eyes and sighing, exasperated, taking the spoon away from the boy.

"I can do it myself."

"No you can't," Kanda replies and tilts Allen's chin up.

"You're a bastard."

"I know."

Allen's sight is slowly deteriorating and all he sees is charcoal and ash. Shadows play tricks on him in the middle of the night, stretching long and thin like monsters and tall strangers.

"Grade four," was all Doctor Bookman had said.

Allen can feel his hearing going too. There's static and electricity and fuzzy voices. Sometimes he has to ask others to repeat a second, third, fourth time because _I'm sorry, I wasn't listening_.

It's all becoming very tiring.

Kanda finishes feeding him and is cleaning up when Allen holds out his hand, searching, before it finds and settles in the crook of Kanda's neck.

"Am I going to die?" He feels Kanda's adam's apple bob, up, down, when he swallows.

"Che, everyone dies someday."

"Well-what I mean is. Soon?"

Kanda shrugs him off. "No."

"Oh, alright then," Allen says and offers him a tight-lipped grin. "That's good to hear."

"Idiot," Kanda mutters and leaves.

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**A/N:** This was supposed to be longer and with actual plot and stuff, but I got lazy.

p.s. I know next to nothing about brain tumours and cancer so sorry for any inaccuracies.


	3. War

_**War**_

It's midsummer, he's sweating like a pig and his lungs feel as though they may burst. The sound of metal on metal, gunfire and explosions of dirt and blood and blood and blood is all a light buzzing in the back of his mind.

There's a Japanese soldier facing him, all straight lines and sharp angles. A mass of dark hair spills over his shoulders like ink and really, that can't be safe because Allen could just reach out a hand and touch…

There's a strange sort of familiarity in this and it terrifies him.

The soldier takes a step towards him and Allen presses the muzzle of his rifle against the other's forehead on instinct. He catches a glimpse of the man's eyes: dark and empty, endless.

_Prett_y, he thinks and pulls the trigger.

_All is (not) lost._


	4. 14

_**14**_

He stands there grinning like the sick bastard he is; the same and not the same at all. Kanda really hates hates haaates when things don't go his way.

Johnny lies in a bloody heap between them, torn flesh and bones bent at odd angles. Kanda feels sick, nauseous. He's gonna vomit, puke his guts out. And he's still smiling, fucking clown.

This isn't Allen. Or-

Kanda tightens his grip on mugen.

He's never liked getting his hands dirty but he promised promised promised to the heavens and hell and fuck the Noah, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck he doesn't wanna do this.

Allen (Neah stupid 4teenth get the hell out) smiles, smug little fuck that he is, and opens his arms. Welcoming, inviting.

The kid wants to die.

This isn't Allen but he looks the same same saaame and Kanda couldn't care less, he just doesn't want the cursed boy's blood on his hands. Kanda really hates hates haaates it when everything's gone to shit.

"Come on," says Allen but not Allen.

Kanda's got him skewered on mugen not five seconds later and he's bleeding and smiling and bleeding and smiling and Kanda doesn't care. Does. Not. Care. He just doesn't wanna deal with Johnny's whining and crying when he wakes up 'cause that'd be annoying.

Allen bleeds and bleeds and bleeds then falls and falls and falls and Kanda's got blood on his hands and it won't come off. Won't come off.

And it all feels very anticlimactic for some reason.

'Cause Allen's lying there in all that red and crimson crimson and Johnny's on the ground and Kanda's got blood on his hands and _it won't come off_.

But he's not crying. Kanda doesn't cry.


End file.
